


breathing's just a rhythm

by staticbees



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 16:16:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticbees/pseuds/staticbees
Summary: Stanley can’t remember the last time he had seen another human being. The runs faded into each other long ago, until he couldn’t tell which is which. Over time, they’ve become as monotonous and routine as getting dressed for work, an endless repetition of endings and choices and doors. Even if Stanley made it outside, even if he found freedom, it’d still reset, eventually. It always does.





	breathing's just a rhythm

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a line from One More Time With Feeling, by Regina Spektor.

Stanley can’t remember the last time he had seen another human being. The resets faded into each other long ago, until he couldn’t tell which is which. He’s mixed them up more times than he can count. Over time, they’ve become as monotonous and routine as getting dressed for work, an endless repetition of endings and choices and doors.

 

He gets flashes, sometimes, of another life, another office. Flames clouding the hallways with thick, choking smoke until he can’t breathe; a sinkhole swallowing up the entire building, bit by bit, as Stanley watches on helplessly; staying in his office for what seems like eternity, waiting for instructions, until he grows old and weak and feels the world slip away. He knows, of course, that they had never actually happened, but they feel all too real sometimes, and occasionally Stanley will turn a corner expecting to see a raging fire, or a gaping hole in the ground where the floor should be.

 

He used to have the different endings and choices memorized, each word the Narrator might say burned into his mind. After a while, though, he’d given up on trying to make sense of the resets. The layout of the office shifts and turns, twisting into new rooms and unfamiliar hallways. Occasionally, he finds that a door is open when it wasn’t before, or a passageway has been blocked off. 

 

He can feel his grip on what’s real and what isn’t slipping away day by day, can feel himself turning into a husk of who he once was, before the Parable. Death has become his only constant. That, and the office, of course. It’s become his entire world, and the outside now holds less appeal than the secure familiarity of the dull hallways and glowing windows he’d grown accustomed to. The office will always be there, no matter what, a fact that’s become almost comforting to Stanley, reset after reset. 

 

+

 

Stanley wakes up with a pounding headache. The lights of the office are brighter than usual, shining in his eyes, and the humming and clicking of the office computers is especially loud. He pulls his knees to his chest, putting his head in his hands and closing his eyes. 

 

He gives his chair a spin, and drags his hands across the keyboard, running his fingers over each button. A incoherent stream of letters and numbers appears on the screen, and Stanley sighs, shutting it off. 

 

He’s long since given up on orders coming through, and there’s no reason to waste power, especially not when he has a feeling he’ll be in here all day. 

 

+

 

He heads down the hallway towards the meeting room, eyes fixed on the ground and hands in his pockets.

 

“Stanley,” the Narrator begins, and Stanley keeps his head down, barely reacting to the sound of his name. He’s heard it so often that it’s begun to sound like another meaningless word, and he barely pays attention to it anymore. 

 

“Stanley.” the Narrator says again, more insistent this time. Stanley glances up. “Are you alright?”

 

He shakes his head and continues walking, faster than before. Rain patters softly outside the windows, and Stanley tries to ignore the faint sound of voices, clattering keyboards and ringing phones in the distance, echoes that lingers long after the rest of the employees are gone. 

 

“Stanley, please, talk to me,” the Narrator pleads. 

 

Stanley steadfastly ignores him in favor of heading to the employee lounge, and sitting down in an armchair, eying the dregs of coffee in a mug on the table next to him. He wonders vaguely if it’s still good, and hesitates before taking a tentative sip. He spits it out, making a face at the cold, gritty dregs. He hasn’t had hot, fresh coffee in a long time, and he has a feeling that trend is going to continue. 

 

He had tried using the vending machine before, but the snacks had stayed stubbornly in place, no matter how much he shook the machine. It wasn’t like he got hungry or thirsty, nowadays, but it was something to break the monotony of the office, and he welcomed anything that could do that.

 

“Are you just going to stay here, Stanley? Yes, I know, it’s a beautiful room, but we need to keep moving.” 

 

Stanley can practically hear the Narrator rolling his eyes, irritated. He ignores him, and sits and stares at the ceiling, craning his neck until it begins to ache. The Narrator is silent, and the office’s air conditioning hums quietly in the background. Stanley reflects that it sounds vaguely like the wind, and that the eggshell blue of the ceiling could pass for the sky. 

 

It’s morning. Stanley is sure of it. He can almost smell the fresh scent of rain and dew covered grass, hear the crickets chirping. Not for the first time, he wishes he were somewhere else. 

 

But even if he made it outside, even if he found freedom, it’d still reset, eventually. It always does. The office has become like an endless dream, one that he knows he’ll never wake up from. When every path you can walk has been created for you long in advance, death becomes meaningless, making life the same. He remembers hearing that somewhere, a long time ago. From who, he’s not quite sure. It doesn’t matter, really.

 

He closes his eyes, and imagines the world outside.


End file.
